Ring Around Ruby: A Tale of the Blair Witch
by Solstice4
Summary: Being a rich kid with pretensions of being an author, Angela decides to tackle writing a ghostly history of her native Maryland. Her research takes her in directions she never dreamed -- in her worst nightmares.


Ring Around Ruby  
A Tale of the Blair Witch  
  
Classified Ad, Burkittsville "Star-Call":  
"Will you tell me a story?" Folklorist  
com-posing book on "Haunted Maryland"  
seeks local stories pertaining to legend  
of the "Blair Witch". Interviews can be  
confidential if desired.  
No  
conspiracy theorists, please. A. Kramer,  
555-555-5555, lv msg, or write "Folklore,  
Lockbox 1421, Baltimore MD 23333.  
  
Partial written reply to ad, received in lockbox the following week:  
  
". . . and I think I have a story you'd like to hear. If you play your cards right, that is if you want to play them right, you might be able to see the old Blair Witch. I can't guarantee, but . ."  
  
TAPED NOTES FOR BOOK, WORKING TITLE:  
"O MARYLAND, HAUNTED MARYLAND"  
  
Chapter 1. Cold Chesapeake Waters  
  
Chapter 2. Baltimore After Dark  
  
Chapter 3. Night Commute From DC  
  
Chapter 4. In A Revolutionary  
Spirit  
Chapter 5. Colonial Guardians  
  
Chapter 6. The Black Hills and the  
Blair Witch  
Chapter 7. A Mist Over Antietam  
  
By Angela Kramer  
  
Interviews and Materials for Chapter 6, The Black Hills and the Blair Witch  
  
Pre-Interview Notes  
  
A woman by the name of Ruby Lusby lives on Black Rock Road outside of Burkittsville MD, not far from the haunted "Black Hills" woods which the evil Blair Witch is said to inhabit. She is in her mid 50's and is sometimes seen to walk with a cane, especially when the weather is damp. She's friendly with her next neighbor down the road towards town, about two miles, but not a coffee klatscher. Her neighbors on the other side are fields and woods. Her house has been remodeled and remodeled over its many years, but there is still some colonial-era masonry to be seen in the cellar, and an authentic mantel over the large and beautiful colonial kitchen hearth. She has a big white dog named Riley, a few cats around, some chickens for eggs, and a big garden, fragrant with turned and mulched earth and a last few hardy decorative kale plants, going to sleep for the winter now, in the back. She doesn't come into town much, just for groceries and to the bank, and drives an old pickup which started its life green but is now mostly primer-paint red. There is a satellite dish on the roof and the loaded bookshelves groan with books on every topic from organic gardening to political science to sun worship to midwifery. She has two divorced daughters that visit her sometimes and one or both of them always stays with her at Christmas. She has no grandchildren. She has someone cut wood for her fireplace, when she can get someone out to do it for her. Although she pays well and supplies her good oatmeal raisin cookies as an added bonus, it's not always easy to get someone to cut on her woodlot, because that, of course, involves going into the woods. And not many people, whether they'll admit it or not, are any too anxious to do that in the territory of the Blair Witch.  
  
As everyone is now aware, in October of 1994, three film students, one of whom, Heather Donahue, was a classmate of mine, went into these brooding woods while making a documentary about the Blair Witch, and were never seen again. Their car was found on a wooded section of Black Rock Road, about a mile past the back line of Ruby Lusby's property. Ruby actually remembers seeing them drive by, as she was out putting a letter to her daughter in the mailbox and the young woman waved as they passed. It sometimes gives my heart a pang to think that Ruby was one of the last few people besides each other to see Heather and the two young men alive. She says she remembers thinking, "What do they want back up in there?" People seldom pass as far out as her way, because after her place there's nothing but several miles of woods roads, and the local people just plain don't go out there unless they absolutely have to.  
  
And when Ruby heard they were missing, she picked up the phone to call the sheriff's office and told them that she had seen them pass and to check out along Black Rock Road. And when she hung up the phone, her thought was, as she recalls, "Elly Kedward, what have you done now?"  
  
******** A large white dog, in need of a bath but still fluffy, is seen to jog across the rather shaggy front yard of Ruby Lusby's house on Black Rock Road, climb the porch steps, and nose his way through the screen door. It slams on his tail and makes him yelp, which interrupts the conversation going on at the kitchen table.  
  
Ruby Lusby looks down at her dog, who looks back up at her wagging and hoping for a cookie. "Riley, if you had a nickel for every time you've slammed your tail in that door, you could retire to the Rich Dog's Home." This makes Ruby's guest laugh, and Ruby makes the dog's day by giving him half a cookie. Ruby looks at her guest. "I'm sorry. What was I saying?"  
  
Angela Kramer looks at her hostess. "I actually forget. Uh . . . you were telling me about what brought you out here to the edge of the most notorious woods on the East Coast."  
  
"Yes. When I lost my husband, the only thing I wanted was to get as far from Baltimore as possible and still be in Maryland near my daughters. I had never heard of the Blair Witch till I bought this place. My Leonard was a railroad man, and the accident that took him was caused by negligence and stupidity. The railroad paid handsomely and continues to pay, and at the time I had a very bright son-in-law . . .and he's still very bright even if he's not my son-in-law any more . . . who helped me invest very well. I'll never lack for money again as long as I live . . . by some people's standards I'm moderately wealthy. But I'd trade all of it to have my husband back again. I like it here, but it doesn't mean a lot without him. Nothing does, really, and perhaps that's why I can exist here where other people have lost their minds . . . or their lives."  
  
Angela is 27 and single and though she has a boyfriend who's steady to the point of ridicu-lousness, she has no idea what losing a husband would really mean. She is secretly relieved that her hostess shows no sign of tears. She says, "I couldn't say, Mrs. Lusby."  
  
Ruby looked at the young woman, with her earnest pretty face, her blond hair in its artfully flyaway chignon, the black tee and Old Navy khakis, and smiled sadly. "You remind me of my daughters when I first started talking about what goes on around here. Very careful and very much worried that they might be in the company of a madwoman. Of course, they've been around for some things, and they know the score now, especially Carol, my younger daughter. But at first, well . . ." Ruby described an ellipse in the air around one ear with a forefinger . . . cuckoo! cuckoo! . . . which made the interviewer laugh again.  
  
"May I turn on my tape recorder now?" Angela asked, and Ruby shrugged. "Sure. It's what you came here for, yes?"  
  
"You bet." The cassette's little reels started to turn and the two women looked at each other. "So!" Angela said. "You mentioned something about your daughters knowing the score. What score is that?"  
  
Ruby looked levelly at the younger woman as if to say, "Are we suddenly going to turn coy?" and she said, "You know the background story already or you wouldn't be here. Those young people disappearing. The horrid stories about old Russton Parr, the child killer, the awful history of this place, the spectral house that appears and disappears, far back in the woods. If I had known before I came I might or might not have moved in here anyway, but I certainly wasn't very informed. When I first moved in, these strange little things would happen every once in a while. I found a pile of rocks in the front yard about a foot high, piled up into a sort of lopsided pyramid. I did take a Polaroid of that, just because it was so strange." She fished the time-faded snapshot out of a manila envelope on the table and slid it across to Angela.  
  
Angela studied the old photo, and a chilly finger tickled the back of her neck. She handed the snap back to Ruby. "I'd love to use this photo, if you don't mind."  
  
"Sure, if it won't damage the original."  
  
"No, it'll be fine. Now, the pile of stones . . .did you leave it there?"  
  
"Well, till the next time the grass needed cutting and I didn't feel like navigating the lawn mower around the thing. I took it apart and put the rocks back in the flowerbed in front, where they came from."  
  
"The flowerbed?"  
  
"Lifted out of the border neat as you please, no digging, no fingermarks in the soft dirt, nothing. Talk about weird."  
  
Angela raised her eyebrows in agreement. "Did anything else happen?"  
  
"I would find things out of place outside, my lawn mower upside down so the gas ran out and made a mess, barbed wire on my line fence cut and knotted, lawn furniture tipped over. I found several of those piles of stones in my woodlot and once in the middle of the garden with a green tomato balanced on top. Puzzling, annoying things, kind of spooky, you know, although the tomato was kind of a nice touch."  
  
Angela's eyes were getting rather wide. "I'd have been petrified out here, alone at night with creepy things like that going on."  
  
Ruby opened her mouth to reply when both women were startled by a sharp clap of thunder. They glanced toward the west-facing window and noticed the dark bank of clouds that had been building during their conversation. "Good grief," Ruby commented. "That came up fast."  
  
Angela suddenly hit the "off" button on her recorder and jumped up, exclaiming, "My car windows!" and ran outside into the beginnings of the rain. Ruby watched from the window as the young woman cranked up her car windows and trotted back to the house. "Do you need a towel?"  
  
"No, I dodged between the raindrops. So, what happened next?" Angela had seemed to forget she was in the kitchen of a supposedly haunted house, with a stranger with a peculiar, if not downright sinister, reputation in town with the café loungers and village square park-bench idlers. In asking a few questions around town before coming out, she had not actually found anyone who knew Ruby who had a lot of time for her. Given Ruby's wry humor and comfortable manner, not to mention the oatmeal raisin cookies, Angela found that puzzling, but she had chalked it up to small-town "You're-A- Stranger-Till-You've-Lived-Here-Three-Generations" isolationism and forgot it. She now plopped back down in her kitchen chair and hit the "record" button again. "So you were out here alone, with strange things going on, strange objects showing up around. Didn't it creep you out?"  
  
"Well sure it did. For a while I wanted to think maybe it was Len trying to communicate with me, but he would have found some other way, something less cryptic, certainly not as creepy. Len's style would have been phantom roses on my pillow or invisible kisses or something. As the summer wound down towards fall, I started to feel as if I was being watched. It was lonely out here, especially at night, with nobody I knew and no pets yet. I was still grieving a lot for my husband, doing a lot of crying at night, you know. This was a little over ten years ago now." Ruby's eyes grew far away. "I remember one night, oh, it was probably close to midnight, coming down to the kitchen table. I thought I wanted tea, but I ended up lighting a fire in the hearth there, even though it was mid-May and warm, and sitting at the table with my head in my hands, weeping for Len." A sheen of tears, quickly banished, glossed Ruby's eyes for a moment. "I don't know how long I was there, but after a while I became aware of this feeling, that I was being watched, and it wasn't a friendly regard. Not actively malevolent, but . . . not amicable at all. You could almost feel the cold curiosity of it, a feeling of "So what's your problem then?" I knew it was coming from the kitchen window on the porch.". Ruby pointed to the window, brighter now with a couple of bottles of blue and green glass on the sill, a small faceted crystal ball hanging from the window latch and reflecting the rain, and a store-bought tomato trying to ripen into edibility. "I began to wish I had closed the shade, and sure didn't want to go by the window to pull it down."  
  
"Afraid of what you might see?"  
  
Ruby snorted. "This is a question you even need to ask?"  
  
Angela laughed. "I guess not. So, please . . . go on."  
  
"Well, I sat there for a moment, and the . . . feeling . . . never wavered. I said out loud, "I lost my husband and I miss him, that's why I was crying. I'm going to bed now." For a second there was a . . . a kind of a flash of understanding or at least comprehension from the . . . whatever was watching me . . . and the feeling stopped. Just quit, as if whatever it was had been planting this fear in my mind and just . . . decided to stop. After a minute or two I heard this distant crash as if something had tipped over in the barn, but there was no way I was going to go outside and check before broad daylight had come."  
  
Angela snorted. "I can imagine. What was it?"  
  
"Nothing. There was not one thing out of place in the barn, but I found something out there, and what I found changed things for me in this area almost before I was known at all. Lying on my workbench out there was . . . well, here, see for yourself." Ruby got up and went to the mantle, reached up, and took down a box that looked like a small treasure chest. Angela had noticed it and had admired how it looked on the colonial mantel. Ruby brought the box to the table and opened it. Angela looked inside and her brows rose. "What's all that? It looks like piles of twigs."  
  
Without answering, Ruby reached inside and removed a yellowed envelope. She shook the contents onto the table. Lying there on the oak tabletop was a small, spindly figure made of twigs, about six inches high, with bits of dried moss stuck here and there on it. Around its headless neck was a woman's gold ring, an antique, set with a large and beautiful square-cut red stone.  
  
Angela blinked. "Is that a . . ."  
  
"Yes. It's a ruby. A very fine one, too, what they used to call a pigeon's blood ruby. I'd never seen the ring before. I took it to the jeweler in Burkittsville to have him look at it, and he said it's at least a hundred years old. He admired it and offered me a hundred dollars for it, the little cheapskate, until I told him how I came by it." Ruby looked up at Angela. "He dropped it on the velvet pad on the counter as if it had bitten him and said that he was sorry, but he had changed his mind. He refused to size it for me or even shine it up. Needless to say, I was puzzled. He was obviously frightened, and when I asked him what the matter was, his exact words were, "Sell your house and move into town. You seem like a nice lady, and you don't know what you're in for out there." So I left, still puzzled, to run my next errand, which was to the bank, and then to the library. I think the phone wires were humming along right behind me, too, because when I stopped at the café for lunch about an hour later, everyone either stared at me as if I had grown another head or ignored me. I felt ridiculous, and more than a little angry. It seemed I had moved into a town full of superstitious fools. Well, in time I found out just how foolish they were."  
  
Ruby stood up from the table and went to the coffeemaker on its little kitchen cart. When she returned with two mugs and the creamer, her face was far away. "When I got home, it was late afternoon. There's sugar on the table there, and half-and-half if you want. Help yourself."  
  
Angela reached for the sugar. "So then what? You got home . . ."  
  
"Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, except that there was a cat sitting on the front step that I had never seen before."  
  
"A cat?"  
  
"Mmm-hmm. A very nice tortoise-shell. Her face was exactly half black and half orange, with golden eyes. I named her Jackie because her face looked like a jack-o-lantern to me. Nothing mysterious about her origins – she was a young female, low on the totem pole, and she wandered over from Wright's farm next door to establish her own little territory. Wright's had plenty of cats and were delighted to have me take her. She was the first pet I had here and her busy little company helped me very much in the nine years she was with me. But I digress. After determining that Miss Jackie would be most satisfied with some tuna and a leftover hamburger patty till I could get cat food, I set about putting my groceries away and doing my early evening thing. I had had the idea of barbequing a steak, so I went out back to start the grill, and while the charcoal was burning down I sat in my lawn chair and looked over the field and towards the woods, just watching the evening and missing Len. I had put the ruby ring on my pinkie finger and was studying it – admiring it, really, because it's certainly beautiful, unique, you know – when a cloud passed over the early evening sun and a cold breeze came up, strong enough to make the barbeque smoke billow all over. The cat darted under the back stoop and I could hear her hissing under there. I looked up sharply towards the woods and thought I saw movement at the edge of the trees, and at the same moment the ruby ring on my finger became cold, so terribly cold it was as if my finger was encased in ice. I yanked the ring off my hand and tossed it away from me, and it just lay there sparkling on the grass."  
  
Angela blinked. "And then?"  
  
"Then the sun came out, the cold breeze stopped, and everything seemed normal again. The cat came carefully out from under the porch, jumped up on the porch railing and began to lick her shoulder in that I-meant-to-do- that way that cats have. I got up and went to pick up the ring, and then thought better of it. It was covered in tiny droplets of water, as if it had been frosted over and then warmed quickly. I picked it up with the barbeque fork and took it inside, put it and the stick man into the envelope, and it's been there ever since."  
  
"Does anyone else know about the ring?"  
  
"Well, after Edgar Chadburn, the jeweler, opened his big mouth, half the town probably knows. My daughters, and Pat Wright, the neighbor lady. Pat's great, very down-to-earth, and she thinks this Blair Witch business is nonsense." Ruby smiled, a slightly tired smile. "She's never been here after dark."  
  
"The way you say that tells me that this isn't something that's happened in the past. This is an ongoing thing, isn't it? You really think the Blair Witch visits you, don't you?"  
  
"Well, you seem open to the idea of these things, or you wouldn't be writing a book about them. As I learned things over time – and believe me, it was like pulling teeth in this town, even in this day and age, before I finally ran into the right people to talk to – I began to understand that what is here is something that just plain can't be fought. It couldn't be gotten rid of by means of some modern-day shaman in a tee shirt. It seems to be slightly intimidated by Roman Catholic symbology, I imagine because the original woman that eventually became this being was the only Irish Catholic in a township full of rock-ribbed pre-Revolutionary Protestants. But it doesn't last. I got out of the crucifix-wearing stage pretty quick, because that just seemed to make it angry." Ruby got up from the table and went to the oven. Looking inside, she said quietly, "I must say I quickly regretted doing that." She reached into the oven with mitts and brought out a pan of baked chicken. "Plates and silverware are to the left of the sink, if you don't mind setting."  
  
Angela said, "I'm a champion table setter," got up and got the plates and silverware. As she set the table she said, "So what you're really saying is that you've somehow managed to co-exist with this thing, right? You can actually get along with this tremendously malevolent entity that nobody in town will really talk about but that everyone knows is there?"  
  
Ruby paused in scooping dill pickles from the jar. She frowned into the middle distance, thinking, before she answered. "I don't think it's a question of getting along. I think it's more of . . . I believe she sees me as someone who wouldn't have gone along with what was done to her originally, and she's right, I wouldn't have." She smiled, a little crookedly. "I probably would have been dragged into the woods with her and tied to the next tree over."  
  
Angela helped herself to a dill pickle. "Ah, perfect," she said through her crunching. "Home-made pickles, just like my grandma's, sour as hell and not too much garlic."  
  
For some reason this seemed to amuse Ruby hugely, but she said nothing. She put the steaming platter of roast chicken, fragrant with tarragon, on the table and sat down sedately. Angela sat too, still munching on her pickle. She finished that one and guiltily took another one, which provoked a grin from Ruby and a dry, "That's what they're for, girl." "So," Angela continued, "My research shows that Elly Kedward was accused of, what else, being a witch. The villagers dragged her into the woods in the middle of winter, tied her to a tree, and left her there. There's a rather fantastic document, an account written down about 50 years later, that I've had the opportunity to examine, that describes some really hideous occurrences that supposedly happened after she "came back", as they said."  
  
"Yes. They thought they had killed a witch, the ignorant barbarians. Till she came back and the township of Blair waded in blood, and they saw that their act of murder had become an act of creation that came straight out of hell. But in all honesty, it's storming, it'll be dark soon, and I don't want to go into detail about what she did. You've already had access to the rare contemporary account, and there are other books you can read if you haven't come across them yet– I have a couple you can borrow if I can find them."  
  
"You believe that she did indeed "come back".  
  
"I know she did."  
  
"And you said it seemed to get angry at Catholic symbols, as in when you were wearing cruci-fixes. How did you know she was angry?"  
  
Dark circles seemed to have appeared under Ruby's eyes that hadn't been there moments before. "She screamed. Let's eat while it's hot, OK?" She pulled a home-made biscuit in half and spread it with butter.  
  
Angela paused, a forkful of chicken halfway to her mouth, and looked at her hostess for a long moment, her eyes very wide. "She screamed?"  
  
"Would you like butter or sour cream on your potato?" Ruby said quietly, as if she had not heard.  
  
"Uh . . .butter, thanks. You don't want to talk about it, do you?"  
  
"Not really. Eat up, kid."  
  
Angela began eating, not really tasting Ruby's excellent cooking, burning with a million questions, but not wanting to push. Ruby seemed to be on the edge of clamming up, and Angela was too caught up with the story of what was going on here to want to jeopardize things. So she applied herself to her dinner, rolling her eyes at the fabulous taste of home- raised non-plastic chicken, and the two women ate in a comfortable silence, listening to the rain on the roof.  
  
Riley nosed his way in from where he had been napping on the porch out of the rain, more careful of his bushy tail this time, and came wagging over to Angela. "You can't have chicken bones, big guy," she said to him. Ruby smiled. "If you're a chicken skinner, he can have some, but not too much. He's too fat as it is." Another abrupt thunderclap made them jump, and the rain intensified. Both women looked out the window, and Angela, suddenly nervous, said "You know, I hate to eat and run, but it's getting kind of stormy. . . "  
  
"Yes, I see. Well, maybe it will let up a little and you can dash to your car. You're set up at the motel? You're perfectly welcome to stay here, you know. The room my daughters use is fresh."  
  
Angela hesitated. "Well . . ."  
  
Ruby laughed, a little sadly. "No, and I can't blame you. Don't worry about the dishes. Come on, I'll umbrella you to your car." From behind the kitchen door she retrieved a big green umbrella with red parrots on it, went out onto the porch, and popped it open, startling the four cats who had been napping on the porch furniture out of the rain with Riley. The cats all gave Ruby dirty looks and resettled themselves as Angela came out behind her, hefting her big olive-drab bag onto her shoulder. "I carry my life in this thing, you know?" she said, looking out at the heavily falling rain.  
  
"Before we get into the rain, you'll be here for breakfast, right?"  
  
Angela smiled, a little sad for the older woman's obvious loneliness. "You know, you don't have to keep feeding me. I can grab a croissant or something in town."  
  
Ruby smiled too, again reminded of her daughters. "In Burkittsville, the closest you'll come to a croissant is a Twinkie from the Gas 'N Go. I don't mind at all. I love to cook – you saw my bazillion cookbooks – but it's no fun for just me, you know? Can I tempt you with French toast, made with homemade bread and cream and my own eggs, and maple syrup imported from the wilds of Wisconsin?"  
  
Angela's eyes gleamed. "Bacon too?"  
  
"Of course! What the hell good is French toast without bacon?"  
  
"Oh my God, I'm going to gain ten pounds, but you've hooked me. I'll be here, 7:30 sharp."  
  
"I'll be ready, and you'll gain 12 pounds if I have anything to say about it." Ruby looked into the rain again. "You're like my daughter Carol, she's too damned thin too. OK, girl, let's run!" The two women dashed to the car, Riley plowing behind, and Angela slung her bag in and piled in after it.  
  
"Seven-thirty sharp!" The little black car roared to life and backed down the driveway, and Angela waved as she popped on her wipers and headlights and headed back towards town.  
  
Ruby stood under her brave parrot umbrella waving, Riley waving his tail beside her, before slowly making her way back to the house, listening to the rain drumming on the umbrella, and it came down in sheets all night.  
  
And later, after dishes and TV, she curled tightly in her bed, alone with the rain and the scream-ing, crying over and over, "It's all right! It's all right! I won't leave you! She won't hurt you! I promise! I promise! I promise!"  
  
**********  
  
"Well, if you ask me, I think she knows more than she's saying about those three poor young people that disappeared," the Gas 'N Go clerk said in a confidential tone of voice, as she took Angela's gas money. "Living out there all alone, talking about strange things that Christian people shouldn't even be thinking about, let alone believing in, and she's not even from here."  
  
Angela pocketed her change and hefted her bag. "She's lived here going on eleven years."  
  
"Exactly, less than eleven years, and she thinks she can just come in here talking and upsetting things." The woman's eyes glittered angrily behind her tinted glasses with their little gold butterfly decal. "She lives out there like Mrs. Country Queen, never tipping her hat to a soul, except her snooty gentleman farmer neighbors out there, doing not a lick of work, nothing to do but count her money and make up evil stories about our town. She should be run out, that's what."  
  
Angela blinked, taken aback by the little woman's startling hostility, and was about to open her mouth to defend Ruby, when one of the elderly coffee- drinkers sitting at one of the little tables in the Koffee Nook put his cup down. "Oh now Evelyn," he interrupted artfully, "you just don't like her because she makes better dill pickles than you. You use too much garlic." The other coffee-drinkers giggled into their styrofoam cups as the first blandly put more creamer in his coffee. Angela blinked at the weird pickle coincidence.  
  
Evelyn drew herself up to her full five feet three inches. "I don't like her because she's a liar and probably a Satan-worshiper, and nobody like that should be allowed to contribute to a church bazaar." This provoked snorts of laughter from the table full of coffee-drinkers, and Howard, he of the red bill cap, said, "Evelyn, you sound like the Church Lady from TV. Could it be . . . Sa-TAN?" he added in a not-very-Dana-Carvey falsetto. Evelyn crossed her arms. "Well Norbert and Howard and the rest of you old cacklers, maybe you should just go home and pay attention to your wives for a change instead of defending that bad woman."  
  
Norbert said, "My wife won't let me come home till 9 o'clock, when she's done with the floors. She throws me out at seven and makes me wander around town. I might get in with the wrong crowd one of these days." The others giggled again, like seventy-year-old naughty kids, and all of them started to slowly make their way towards the door. "You behave now, Evelyn, and don't be bad-mouthing Ruby," Norbert said. "Father Pete wouldn't like to hear that."  
  
Evelyn frowned, but reached over the counter and squeezed Norbert's skinny arm as he passed. "You take care, Norbert, and watch that blood pressure."  
  
Norbert patted Evelyn's hand and smiled at Angela, who had been standing silently and taking in all this local-yokel byplay. "You come in here tomorrow morning at 6:00 sharp, and I'll tell you a story that'll chill your blood, and a true one too. We can't let Ruby have all the fun."  
  
Howard groaned. "Good God, Norbie, not that awful thing again."  
  
Norbert looked down at Angela, and she smiled up into the twinkling eyes. The old man told her, "My lass, if you look hard enough and ask the right people, there's enough in this area for a whole book, not just a chapter."  
  
Angela thought she could put up with being called "my lass" since Norbert was at least as old as her grandfather would have been had he been alive. "I'm beginning to see that, and depending on what my publisher says, I might have to do just that." Angela followed the old man outside, remembering to smile to Evelyn as she left, although the woman's rather senseless hostility toward Ruby disturbed her. Evelyn smiled back, but the expression did not touch her eyes.  
  
Norbert paused for a minute, enjoying the rain-washed sunny morning and waving to Howard, who was standing across the street waiting for him. He looked down at Angela again. "For the chance to talk with a pretty young woman who looks an awful lot like my oldest granddaughter, I'll be your right person to talk to, because believe me, you won't get much of anything out of anyone without someone they know standing next to you. I was the one who told Ruby what she wanted to know, too, or more actually my wife and I did." Norbert looked up at the sky. "I was born and raised here, came back after the war and college, and taught history for 31 years here in this town. You'd be amazed at the questions that people will bring to a history teacher. You bring your notebook or tape recorder or whatever and we'll talk. And don't let Evelyn bother you . . . she's just one of the chronically narrow-minded. Just between you and me and the gas pump there, her real problem with Ruby is that the two of them, both widows, were interested in the same gentleman a few years back, and Ruby got him. She didn't keep him for long, either – missing her late husband too much is my guess – and that just made it worse."  
  
Angela's eyes widened as she suddenly understood little Evelyn's outsized ferocity. "Aaah! Adding insult to injury! Now I get it. I thought she was a little angry over dill pickles. " She shot a sneaky look at the door. "Don't tell Evelyn, but I thought Ruby's dill pickles were great."  
  
Norbert laughed as Angela glanced at her watch. "Oh, I have to go – Ruby's making breakfast this morning and I promised to be there at 7:30 sharp."  
  
"Better hustle, then. Ruby's cooking isn't to be missed, and she doesn't get much chance to practice it on anyone. She's chosen the life of a lonely mourner, poor lady."  
  
Angela reached to shake Norbert's hand. "Thank you so much, Mr . . ."  
  
"Caswell. Norbert C. Caswell at your service, ma'am."  
  
"Mr. Caswell. See you at 6:00, and thank you again." Norbert started across the street where Howard waited impatiently, and Angela jumped in her Saab and fired it up. She waved to the old fellows as she drove past them, excited at the idea of having a respected local contact, but knowing that contacts, respected or otherwise, sometimes got cold feet. Although she had to admit, Mr. Norbert C. Caswell didn't really seem like the cold- footed type.  
  
She was becoming familiar with the area and made the turn towards Black Rock Road and Ruby's without thinking about it, thinking instead about how this was all coming together, chewing her thumbnail, and after a short while pulled into Ruby's driveway with 5 minutes to spare. The aroma of frying bacon met her on the porch steps and set her mouth to watering, and Ruby promptly answered her knock, but Angela had to stifle a gasp at Ruby's appearance, the hollow eyes and haggard face.  
  
"Didn't you sleep at all?" Angela asked.  
  
"Not well. It got quieter a little after two, so I got a few hours." After this greeting, Ruby returned to the range and flipped the French toast on the griddle.  
  
Angela sat down slowly at the table. "Quiet? What went on after I left?"  
  
"You mean, what did you miss? Believe me, girl, nothing you wanted to be in on. Help yourself to juice."  
  
Angela poured the juice into her glass, and then swirled it. "Is this fresh squeezed? Good God, Ruby! Minute Maid would have done fine."  
  
Ruby brought a platter of French toast to the table. "I hate frozen juice, and I was up early." Angela looked into Ruby's face for any hint of a joke and saw none. Instead of replying she quietly put her little tape recorder next to her plate and set about syruping her French toast. Ruby sat down with a cup of coffee and her plate. "Oh my God, Ruby, this is wonderful," Angela said around a mouthful. "You should open a restaurant."  
  
Ruby laughed a little ruefully. "I could call it "Elly's Eatery". But who would come?" She bit a piece of bacon in half and chewed slowly, looking out the window. "Eat up, kid."  
  
Angela was starting to recognize that phrase as meaning, "Eat and then we'll talk," so she did. Afterwards she helped Ruby with the dishes in silence, and when the last of them was put away, Ruby took her coffee mug and went onto the front porch, which was getting morning sun. Angela followed and sat down in the glider across from Ruby's wicker rocker. She watched as Ruby contemplated the woods, cupping her coffee mug between her hands.  
  
The silence was threatening to become oppressive when Riley appeared from somewhere and flopped down at Angela's feet, panting happily and thumping his bushy tail. Ruby smiled fondly at the dog and said, "Traitor," which made the tail thump faster.  
  
"Do all these . . . things that happen . . . do they bother Riley?" Angela asked hesitantly. Ruby looked at the younger woman and said, "You know, I suspect I'm being totally uncommunicative when I was the one who contacted you to begin with. I'm sorry. I'm just tired. To answer your question, sometimes they do and sometimes they don't. There seems to be a need with this . . . being . . . to cause fear. I suspect she lives off it. I've seen Riley cornered by the barn, afraid to move, staring at nothing and shaking as if his death is in front of him. Sometimes he's left alone for weeks, and sometimes she's tormented him day after day for a month. And nothing I've ever done or said has ever made her stop."  
  
Angela scowled indignantly. "The evil thing! Picking on a poor dog that never hurt her! How hateful and cruel!" She patted Riley protectively.  
  
"Evil doesn't begin to describe this thing. And oh it's cruel, oh yes. Cruelty is at the core of it, along with insanity and rage and other things better contemplated in the daylight. Mental illness might have been at the center of her being condemned to begin with . . .in colonial times, espe- cially in a backwater like this was and still is, unusual behavior caused by mental disease was thought of as being diabolical in nature rather than a symptom of illness. It's a testament to Riley's wonderful disposition that he's not become neurotic because of what she's done to him. I've actually thought about finding another home for him, one that's, well, ghost-free. I tried to give him to Pat Wright once and she took him, mostly to humor my ghost obsession, but he hiked home across the fields again the same day." Slow tears came to her eyes. "And I'd miss him so much. He and the cats, my little bandit crew, they're really all I have. Old Elly doesn't seem to get after the cats too much. They don't seem to have the kind of fear she needs. They're wild, like her, even though they're spoiled house cats most of the time. Riley's fear is more, well, domestic, or something." Ruby sighed and changed the subject . "So. Did you fill up your car at the Gas 'N Go?"  
  
Angela began to smile. "Are you asking me if I met Evelyn?"  
  
Ruby looked seriously at Angela for a moment, and then burst out laughing. "Quite a piece of work, isn't she? I'm afraid that after the church bazaar incident I've started thinking of her as Mrs. Dill Pickle."  
  
Angela quirked an eyebrow. "Ruby, that woman hates you. I mean, she . . . really . . . hates you."  
  
"Oh yes, she does. For a while there she was telling people that came in, customers, mind you, that I was a devil worshiper. Her priest caught wind of it, I guess, and had a finger-wagging talk with her. Bless him, he'd chew nails and spit carpet tacks for his flock. He tolerates crap from no man or woman and like his parishioner Pat Wright also thinks this Blair Witch business is nonsense."  
  
"I also met a gentleman named Norbert Caswell. He said if I met him at 6 am tomorrow, he'd tell me a scary story. He said he couldn't let you have all the fun."  
  
Ruby laughed. "Dear Norbert! He's a lovely person. So's his wife, Catherine, who also takes crap from no man, mostly Norbert. Yes, I know the story he'll tell you . . . it will fit."  
  
Angela sighed. "Antietam is going to seem dull after this."  
  
"Antietam?"  
  
"Chapter Seven. "A Mist Over Antietam."  
  
Ruby was quiet for a moment. "I need to show you something." She got up from her chair and went inside for a moment, and came back out with something wrapped in a tissue. "This was on the porch this morning, hanging from the begonia pot."  
  
Lying in Ruby's palm was another of those strange little stick figures. This one was in the shape of two beings side by side, cleverly wrought of hickory twigs. The two hands were joined and the little figures were clearly meant to be female. Angela looked blankly at the thing, not comprehending at first what she was looking at. She looked up at Ruby.  
  
"She's aware of you now," Ruby said matter-of-factly. "I found one of these, very similar, after each of my daughters visited me here for the first time. She seems to think you're another daughter."  
  
Angela looked at the little figure for a long moment, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck begin to prickle. "I'm starting to have a little trouble with this," she said after a moment.  
  
Ruby smiled without much humor. "Mm-hmm. Didn't Stephen King once write something about how it stops being interesting when it starts being you?" Her eyes grew dark. "I used to read all his stuff . . . enjoyed him a lot. I haven't read him for a long time now though. I don't need to . . . stuff like his, I live it every day."  
  
Angela felt the prickle intensify and travel down her spine. Suddenly, in the bright October morning sunshine, she was terrified. She looked up at Ruby, who was looking back at her with unfathomable dark eyes. For the first time, the thought made itself known to Angela – "Is this woman sane?" A faint breeze, chilly despite the sunshine, stirred the loose strands of both women's hair, and Riley started up from his nap, growling. Ruby closed her eyes.  
  
"Hush," she whispered. "Don't move. She's here."  
  
Angela felt the air being sucked from her lungs as something happened to the air, some change in pressure that pulled at her eardrums and eyeballs and made her want to gasp for breath. "In daylight? In daylight?" The pleasantness of the morning had completely gone. The breeze intensified, lifting the hair from Angela's forehead, running fingers of ice through it, then blowing it back, but the wind chime moved not at all. Angela was winter inside and out, frozen into her chair. Oh God, the shadow on the porch – What's behind me? Ruby what IS that?  
  
Ruby gazed into the middle distance, eyes deep and seeing nothing. That horrid breeze blew steadily, a January exhalation in the warm sunshine. Suddenly Riley sprang to his feet, his wooly-sheep exterior gone, baying like a wolf at nothing, his eyes blazing clear fire at the empty space on the porch steps behind Angela. Then with no warning, something seemed to snap and the air clapped against Angela's eardrums with a force that made her cry out. Warmth flooded back into her and she slithered out of her chair to her knees, gasping and choking, and then great sobs burst from her. She was immediately engulfed by the warm smell of dog as Riley pressed his bulk against her, still growling. She cried out again as strong hands closed on her upper arms and pulled her onto the glider, and she sobbed into Ruby's shoulder.  
  
"What happened? What happened?" was all Angela could manage. Ruby let the younger woman's hysterics run themselves out. After a short while, she sat Angela up straighter and offered her a couple of Kleenex from her sweater pocket. "Better now?" she asked. Angela could only nod silently, wondering if now she had circles under her eyes to match Ruby's. "You're a tough one," Ruby said mildly. "My daughter Jeanne ran screaming down the road and I had to go after her in the truck."  
  
"What was it? Oh, Ruby, I've been researching this book for a long time and I've never had anything happen like this before." Gradually her trembling stopped. Ruby said, "Just a minute," and went inside. Angela slid to the porch floor again. She pressed close to Riley, who sat staunchly as she put her arms around him and leaned against him, grateful as hell for big wooly dogs who protected you. Ruby came back out with a cold glass of sparkling water and handed it to the younger woman, who sipped gratefully.  
  
"It's probably because there isn't anything like this. She was here. To be truthful, in the eleven years I've lived here, she's never manifested quite like this in daylight before. She's interested in you. She loathes children and misses no chance to do harm to them, but she seems to be inter- ested in women who are tough and a little eccentric, maybe like she once was." Ruby leaned over and looked into Angela's eyes, seeking her mettle. She grasped the younger woman's shoulders in iron fingers. Her eyes blazed flame blue into Angie's and her voice was low and intense. "I think Heather, the poor girl who disappeared, was like that too. Don't mistake this being's interest for friendliness. Maybe once she could have been . . . appeased. No longer. If you can stand it, we can go into the woods – just the edge, in my wood-lot, no further, I promise – and you'll see her. You wanted something to write about, and I can deliver it. But believe me, you'll have to be tough, tougher than you ever thought of being, because she is more ghastly than you can imagine, and if she gets to you, she'll eat you alive. Can you do it?"  
  
Angela's heart threatened to pound through her chest and fall throbbing into her lap, but she found herself nodding. "If you're with me. Not alone."  
  
Ruby started to take the empty water glass back into the kitchen. "No. If you were alone she'd take you."  
  
Angela managed a shaky smile. "And eat me alive?"  
  
Ruby stopped and looked back at her, and was not smiling. As they passed into the bacon-scented kitchen, she said, "When they found the film belonging to the three kids who dis-appeared, there was nothing else with it, but it's known that they also had a DAT recorder with them . . . you know, digital audio tape."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Do you believe in psychic ability?"  
  
Angela let herself down carefully in the rocking chair next to the fireplace. "After what happened a few minutes ago, I'll believe anything."  
  
"Mary Brown – I know you know who she is, the psychic Bible-toting Wiccan, saw . . . in a sort of vision . . . one of the young men crying in pain and fear, with his teeth missing and a great hole in his side where his liver should have been." Ruby sat at the table and folded her hands. "Can you imagine what might be on those tapes? Is it something you'd want to hear?"  
  
Angela felt tears well and fought them back. "Ruby, are you going to harm me?" Ruby seemed taken aback. "Good God, girl. I'm sorry if you're frightened. I've been living with this for so long I've forgotten what it's like not to be haunted." She looked down at her hands. "Because it's not the house that's haunted. It's the land and the woods, and it's me." She looked back up at Angela. "She haunts me. After all this time, I suppose she almost owns me. But she respects my space, like we used to say in the '80's, because I'm strong and she can't push me. She thrives on fear, and I have none to offer her. I once left her a blanket on the porch on Halloween, and it disappeared. Then I left a pot of hot tea and another blanket on the table on Christmas Eve. I lay in my bed awake almost till Christmas morning, listening to the walls moaning and the floors creaking as she wandered the house, whispering and whispering. All four cats and Riley huddled trembling on my bed till dawn. In the morning the blanket was folded over the back of the chair and the tea was gone, and there was a bundle of twigs on the mantel with a handful of pumpkin seeds and two human fingernails inside. Very old, but pulled from the quick. My daughter Carol was here for Christmas. She never heard a thing all night, but she beat me downstairs on Christmas morning and found the bundle. She had worse hysterics than you just did. But I was not afraid . . . never once was I afraid."  
  
Angela was slowly shaking her head. "You live with this creature. This thing that's killed how many people, that twisted a harmless recluse into turning child killer, that's bedeviled this area for two hundred years, you are its friend."  
  
Ruby shook her head. "No. Not her friend. But maybe her sister somehow. We can choose our friends, but we can't choose our relatives, can we?"  
  
Angela stared at Ruby, speechless, and Ruby stood up. "Well, shall we go for a walk in the woods?" Angela followed suit, and Ruby said, "My only advice is to hit the bathroom before we go."  
  
A few minutes later, Ruby and Angela were hiking down the road towards Ruby's woodlot. Riley padded behind them despite attempts to make him stay home, and all three of them walked in silence for a short way. Then Angela abruptly said, "Did you plant those pumpkin seeds?"  
  
Ruby smiled slightly. "I did. They grew like mad and produced scads of the most perfect, brightest orange pumpkins you ever saw. I made a chunk of change selling them for Halloween off the back of my truck."  
  
Angela found it somewhere within herself to chuckle. "That's appropriate."  
  
"I thought so. Of course, none of the locals would buy from me, except Norbert and Cathy Caswell for their grandchildren, and Pat Wright's husband Bob, and a few other good people from town that stopped more to make a point than because they wanted pumpkins. It was mostly all highway traffic that stopped." Ruby paused on the verge of the road and looked across the field at the dark and silent treeline a hundred yards away. "When I was picking the pumpkins and loading them, a big one started to roll off and I caught it. I broke back two fingernails almost to the quick." A small sound escaped Angela's throat, and Ruby turned to look at her. "You're looking kind of pale. Do you think you can do this?"  
  
Angela's chin stuck out. "You've lived with this for years. I can handle an hour in the woods, I think."  
  
Ruby's eyelids lowered. "That's admirable. You're young and nimble – skin under the fence there and hold up the wire for me, would you?" Angela crossed the ditch and slipped on her belly through the fragrant damp grass and under the fence. She got up and held up the strands of barbed wire while Ruby carefully lowered herself to the ground and deliberately slid underneath. Both women stood there for a moment, brushing grass from their clothes, and Riley slithered underneath too and shook himself.  
  
Ruby frowned down at the dog with mild exasperation. "I wish you'd go home," she said. The dog looked back up at her, and Angela knew she wasn't mistaking the sternness in his face. If a dog could be said to have a tight-lipped expression, he had one. If you have to do this asinine thing, fine, but I'm going with you to make sure you don't screw it up, and that's that.  
  
"I'm glad he's coming," Angela said. "He'll take care of us."  
  
"Well, he'll try, anyway," Ruby said. She took point and started across the field without another word, Angela trailing behind, Riley bringing up the rear guard.  
  
The woods loomed. They had seemed distant from the road, across the fragile barrier of three strands of barbed wire, but now they stood up tall and stretched darkly welcoming arms toward two women and a big white dog. Long before Angela was ready, the three of them reached the treeline, and Angela stopped for a second, her feet suddenly unwilling to follow her commands. Ruby looked at her with that mild expression. "It's just my woodlot," she said. "I was in here last week marking some trees to cut for the winter and the scariest thing I saw was a couple of crows swearing at me. Come on." She went deeper into the trees, Angela on her heels. Angela looked down as she walked to hit the "Record" button on her tape recorder, and walked into Ruby's back. She looked up, ready to apologize for jostling the older woman, and started to speak before it registered in her mind that Ruby had stopped and was waving a hand behind her . . . Shhh!  
  
The woods were cold, much colder than they should have been on a pleasantly warm October morning like this one. And the light filtering through the thinned-out leaves had taken on a threatening bronze quality, like the light before a serious thunderstorm. The ground cover, damp from the rain the day before, whispered soggily under Riley's feet as he came up even with Ruby and leaned against her leg. The dog lowered his head, his weird pointed German shepherd ears straining, the beginnings of a silent snarl wrinkling his snout. Angela began to tremble, but unslung her tape recorder. She held it over her head toward what the dog might be hearing, but after a moment or two it still was not evident. Riley's snarl turned into a deep ripping growl and Angela whispered into the machine, "The dog's staring into the trees and growling . . . I don't really hear anything."  
  
"Hush," Ruby whispered suddenly, and Angela wasn't sure if she was talking to her or the dog. "Listen. I've come here every day for weeks sometimes without a trace or even a feeling of her, but she's not wasting any time today." Angela strained her ears, momentarily forgetting her fright in the effort to listen. Ruby's jaw tightened. "She was waiting."  
  
Was is a woman laughing, cackling old-woman laughter, or a child crying, or both? For a brief moment, a young man's voice, crying in pain – the laughing woman, howling infants, and another woman's voice, a young woman, mad with terror, broken with thirst and screaming, shrieking a name . . .  
  
MICHAEL! MIIICHAAAEL! MIIIIICHAAAAAEL!  
  
Angela felt the impact of her butt hitting the ground before she realized her knees had come unhinged and dumped her. Now around them rose such screaming, shrill, rising to the treetops, filled with fury and madness, eardrum-piercing, filling the world. Angela cringed in the wet leaves, sobbing silently, hands clapped to her ears, tape recorder running forgotten.  
  
Riley began to bay as he had on the porch, eyes blazing, hackles erect. There was no fear in him now, and he planted himself stiff-legged in front of the two women and continued to roar, daring anyone or anything to try and come past him.  
  
And in the midst of the shrieking and the furious bellowing of the dog, Ruby stood up straight, flung her hands up over her head, and thundered, "QUIET RIGHT NOW!"  
  
Angela was forcibly reminded of someone grabbing a vibrating bell to muffle the sound: abrupt silence dropped over the ringing woods. For a breath, then two, there was nothing. Riley sat down, quiet now but still watching intently. That ghastly cold breeze began again, and Angela pressed both hands over her mouth to muffle the whimper that wanted to escape.  
  
Ruby was looking steadily further into the trees, and Angela followed her gaze, not understanding at first what she was seeing, not wanting to understand that she was actually looking, with her own eyes of flesh, at the legendary Blair Witch. The black draperies flowed in that silent wind that moved no leaves and left wind chimes mute, the black depthless eyes that seared but gave no light, as if they glowed in the ultraviolet. The wrinkled crooked-toothed grin, a long arm covered with thick black hair like an animal's limb, hairy clawlike hand grasping by the wrist something smaller that struggled without hope to free itself.  
  
Angela could not bear to look at the silently gliding figure that approached them, but was terrified to look away. She whispered rapidly into the tape recorder, trying to describe what she was seeing, not aware of the high-pitched fright in her own voice.  
  
Ruby stared grimly at the approaching being, and shoved Riley none too gently with her knee when he started to snarl again. "Hello, you old bitch," she muttered.  
  
The thing stood about twenty feet in front of the two women and the menacing dog, looking back and forth between them, that abominable grin never leaving its face. This was no mournful wraith sadly wandering the woods and doing damage out of simple anger and grief. This was a being of black and evil power and vitality such as the world has seldom seen. Its madness was bottomless, its malevolence incomprehensible. No being of the living world should have been able to stand before it, yet somehow Ruby did, and Angela's panic began to give way to fascination.  
  
The revenant's mouth yawned for a moment and Angela caught a glimpse of its unspeakable yellow tongue as it spoke. "Old bitch," it said, the words echoing flatly, and Angela shuddered all over, nerves struck numb. The sound of its voice on the ears was like the taste of a tarnished spoon on the tongue. The sounds of screaming infants drifted towards them briefly, then the thing spoke again. "Ruby. Angela. The dog. Angela! Angela, look me!"  
  
Ruby spun quickly and slapped a hand over Angela's eyes. "Hey!" she protested, startled, and Ruby hissed in her ear. "Shut up! For Christ's sake, don't look at it now!" To the revenant she said firmly, "No. Mine."  
  
"Dog!"  
  
Riley knew that word perfectly well, and snarled hideously. Again Ruby told it firmly, "No. Mine." As one would speak to a willful small child, or to the hopelessly mad.  
  
The young man crying and screaming. The cackling woman. A hooting owl, a weeping child. A screech of anger, and silence. Ruby's fear had long ago drowned in the bottomless well of her widow's grief, and the fiend could not touch her. Angela's fear was beginning to turn to fascination and leave her , and for the moment the creature had no recourse. It glared at Riley, who snarled back defiantly, all his fear gone in the face of this threat to his women.  
  
It began to move closer, dragging its struggling faceless burden. Suddenly the small captive faded away, a simple illusion conjured up to cause terror. Its black draperies billowed in the non-existent ice-wind it carried with it, and Angela, who had pushed Ruby's hand away, felt its approach. Her terror began to swell again, and she started to back away, her nerve going, and the being, sensing Angela's fear and relishing it, began to utter a blood-freezing sound between a snarl and a moan. The black-clawed hands, thick with coarse black hair and crusted with ancient blood, began reaching for the young woman, who staggered backward, tripped over a fallen branch, and fell neatly backward into the leaves. She lay there helpless in the mold, her hair clip lost and her blond hair streaming, frozen in a rictus of terror. The being bent over her and Angela felt her mercifully empty bladder go, sucking in breath for what she was sure would be her last scream. She closed her eyes. "Oh please don't, oh Elly, please don't hurt me," she whispered, knowing it was useless. The revenant chuckled, clotted blood and chunks of ice in a buried drainpipe.  
  
"Oh Elly," it said, reaching down to run a long lock of Angela's hair through its fingers, and Angela moaned as the touch struck claws of ice into her scalp. Riley came to Angela's other side and stood firm, staring eye to eye with the stooping creature. The monster looked at him coldly, lips tight, and the dog responded with a fang-filled gape that would have done credit to a wolf. The being backed away and from somewhere distant Ruby said, "Enough. We're going."  
  
It swooped to within 6 feet of Ruby, who never turned a hair. "NO!" it grated, and from some-where close by the unknown young woman shrieked for Mike! again, and this time Angela recog-nized the voice from her long-ago English lit class. "Heather," she whispered.  
  
"Yes," Ruby said, her face very pale, her eyes cold and steady. "Yes, or no more blankets. No more tea. I'll burn the little people."  
  
"Noooo", the thing groaned. "The fire the light." It looked at Angela one more time, and the unspeakable grin returned. "No," Ruby said yet again.  
  
That weird air-pressure implosion happened again, and the creature stood again about twenty feet away. Its grin was gone and derangement flared around it, and Ruby, knowing she would pay for it later but not how much, began calmly to recite, "Hail-Mary-full-of-grace-the-Lord-is-with- thee. . .blessed-art-Thou-among . . ."  
  
The Blair Witch screamed aloud, shaking both hair-covered claws to the sky, its black draperies falling open, revealing the shriveled woman's body covered with more of the thick black hair. The mouth of a dog filled with bristling teeth opened in the side of the left leg, tongue lolling, and a scattering of bloodshot streaming eyes of different colors and sizes opened on the pelt-covered belly and chest. Pale-feathered owl wings, flapping hysterically, burst from the sides of its head. When deer antlers dangling runners of bloody velvet erupted from its howling mouth, Angela finally broke, scrambling to her feet, screaming, running for the edge of the woods, tape recorder banging at her side still whirring away, not even hearing Ruby's cry of "No! Stay put!" She felt the fiend behind her, laughing and shrieking in its foul cloud of lunacy and she burst into the daylight, pelting across the field, Riley on her heels, leaving the shadow- struck woods behind, leaving Ruby alone. She did not bother to go under the fence at the edge of the road, but scrambled over it heedlessly, ripping her jeans and slashing her arm, never feeling it. In his terror, the heavy dog took the waist-high fence like a steeplechaser, never noticing the clumps of skin and white hair he left behind, skewered on the top strand of barbed wire.  
  
Angela did not stop running, breath flaming in her chest, side aching, until she reached her car parked in Ruby's driveway, flung herself in, slammed the door in the dog's face, and tore off towards town. One staring glance in the rearview and she saw Riley frantically chasing the car . . . O please don't leave me behind! She slammed on the brakes and flung open the door, shouting "Come on, Riley! Hurry up!" The big dog caught up in a flash and leaped neatly across her lap and over the seat back, where he collapsed, filling the small back seat, his convulsive panting sounding too much like human sobs of relief. Angela slammed the door and floored the gas. The little Saab shrieked, jerked neck-snappingly into gear, and fled down Black Rock Road towards the dubious safety of Burkittsville as if it, too, was in terror of some unspeakable pursuit.  
  
********  
  
"And I left her," Angela sobbed, bent over double on Catherine Caswell's brown velvet sofa, a dishtowel wrapped around her bleeding arm. Riley crouched at her feet, bolting down the last of a bowl of water, not even seeing the two Caswell cats, who eyed him indignantly from perches on highboy and bookcase. Every now and then a gust of trembling shook him. He laid his wet chin on Angela's knee and she dug her hands into his fur, burying her face in his thick ruff. They did not really look like a young woman and a dog, but rather like two children who have just survived a tornado.  
  
Catherine brought Angela a mug of strong tea and made her sit up and take it. "Here," she said. "Chamomile. Careful, it's hot." Angela sipped cautiously and nodded gratefully, and Mrs. Caswell surreptitiously offered Riley a macaroon, which he sniffed, took politely, and placed gently on the floor next to the empty water bowl. He lay down and put his paw on the cookie, glancing suspiciously at the frowning cats, and Catherine looked at this for a second before saying, "All right, save it for later, then." She squeezed Angela's shoulder and went into the hallway, where her husband was rummaging in the hall closet.  
  
"Norbert, what are you doing?" she whispered. "What do you think? Do you believe this wild story?" She planted her hands on her ample hips and looked at him with raised eyebrows.  
  
Norbert surfaced with a pair of worn hiking boots, sat down on the dainty Queen Anne chair in the hallway, and began laboriously to put them on. While he was pulling and lacing he said, "I do. We both know what's out there, Cathy, and pretending otherwise is useless. That young woman is traumatized, and even if you don't believe that, then look at the dog. Dogs don't know how to lie about what happens to them." He stood up, a little creakily. "I think I'll go pick up Donnie and Howard and go and visit Ruby. Nobody much goes out there and she might like some company." He gave his wife a level look, which she returned with one hand pressed to her chest. "Stay with her," he said, jerking a thumb toward the sitting room, where Angela could be heard murmuring to the dog. "Ruby's probably just fine, but if she's not . . . if she's hurt in the woods, or . . . maybe she went in the basement for . . . for a jar of pickles and the door stuck . . ." he looked very hard at Catherine, who went slightly pale. "If it was you or I maybe in trouble, we would want someone to check."  
  
Catherine sighed. "Of course. Go, but you be damned careful, Norbert Caswell."  
  
Norbert embraced his wife, and she squeezed back hard. "I love you, my lass," he said. "We'll call you from Ruby's."  
  
"You'd better," she said, lips tight. "Stay out of trouble. This town has had more than it needs of people sticking their noses into dark corners out there."  
  
He smiled, a trifle grimly. "Don't worry. Not all the gold in Fort Knox could get me to go into those woods with just Donnie and Howard. You'd need a five or six priests in black hats, an Amish hex doctor and an Eskimo shaman just to come out alive against old Elly with those two around. The Ghost would have two Mr. Chickens."  
  
This was supposed to make Catherine smile but was only partially successful. "Don't jolly me, Norbert. Just be careful."  
  
He kissed her cheek. "I will, and count on two extra for supper besides the lass here, three if Ruby will come. We don't care a whit for what that silly Evelyn Schmidt says about who sits at our table, or that poofy jeweler, either." And he was out the door.  
  
Catherine stood where she was for a moment, listening to their car start and back into the street, knowing these could be the last sounds made in her hearing by her husband. As they had grown old together, the possibility of losing her husband someday was something she had tried to come to terms with, but not over something like this. She cleared her throat, straightened her spine, and went through into the sitting room.  
  
Angela was sitting up with her half-empty tea mug, looking much steadier. Riley was sitting up again, macaroon abandoned, with his chin again glued to her knee. The cats had floated closer and were eyeing the macaroon with interest, but were still not sure of the big dog. Angela looked up at Catherine, who said, "He left to pick up a couple of other men and go check on Ruby."  
  
Angela closed her eyes. "Dear God."  
  
Catherine sat down next to Angela and squeezed her k nee. "Don't worry," she said, suddenly comforted by her own words. "You wouldn't know it, but there are people in this town, mostly older folks like us, who know what's out there, and we know better than to tangle with anything. Ruby's problem was that she was an outsider who didn't know, until she was too involved to get away. If she's all right and to be found, they'll find her, but they won't go closer than shouting distance to those woods or do anything to risk themselves. We'll be sitting down with Ruby at the supper table tonight, you'll see."  
  
Tears started to trickle down Angela's cheeks again. "How can I face her after running and leaving her alone with that horror?"  
  
Catherine's lips tightened. "I think the question might be, how will she face you, after dragging you into the woods with that thing in the first place?"  
  
"I volunteered to go," Angela said softly.  
  
Catherine turned and made Angela look her in the eye. "You don't understand either. With that thing out there, there is no volunteering. It manipulates, it influences. It directs what it wants to have happen. Ruby thinks she's this thing's friend, but she's not. She's its creature. She thinks people in town don't like her because she's an outsider, and once that was partly the truth, but not entirely, not anymore. The real truth of it is that they are afraid of what she might drag behind her into their lives. Leaving blankets and tea for that abomination . . . Good God. Yes, I've heard that story. Elly Kedward was barbarically, cruelly murdered and is to be pitied and grieved for, but all that's over two centuries gone, and what's there now isn't Elly Kedward any more. It's a monster now, and a human being can't stand against it for long. It plays with you, as viciously and cruelly as the ignorant townspeople played with her. Stupid people say that cats are cruel when they play with mice, but cats are innocent creatures of God who only do what they are made for. This thing, this Blair Witch, is like a cat with the knowledge of good and evil but who still chooses the evil. Maybe some saintly person could stand against it who had great faith or power, maybe even white magic, like these Wiccans you hear tell of, but not ordinary people like us." Catherine put her arm around Angela's shoulders, which were shaking again as the young woman wept soundlessly. "Don't be afraid. You're safe and in no danger anymore. We'll take care of this."  
  
Angela wiped her cheeks, embarrassed. "Thank you for doing this. I came to research just one chapter for my book, and I've accomplished nothing but making a big fuss. I feel so stupid. And thank you so much for believing me and not calling the men in the white coats."  
  
Catherine shook her head. "It's not a question of believing. These days the young people don't go into the woods. It's all TV and computers with them now. But my goodness, when I was a girl, young people spent half their lives in the woods, either working or playing, and so of course we saw all kinds of things. It's there and it's real, and the people who have encountered it, like my husband and me and some of our friends, know that. And since that's the truth, it's our res-ponsibility to deal with it. The people around here who hide their heads and won't see, like the Sheriff, are half the problem. It's the littlest children and us old folks, whose sleep is easily disturbed, who guard the door at night."  
  
Angela wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, then removed the bloody dishtowel from her arm with a grimace. "My arm's not bleeding anymore, it's just a deep scratch. But I think this is ruined," she said in a small voice.  
  
"Nonsense," Catherine said. "Cold salt water, take it right out." She stood up. "Come on, let's get that arm cleaned up and make sure it doesn't need any stitches. Will you need a tetanus shot?" Angela shook her head. "Had one three years ago. We've got horses at home." Catherine nodded and held her hand out to Angela, who took it and followed Catherine into the downstairs bathroom like a child, the trembling dog following right behind her.  
  
****** But as it turned out, all those precautions and all that fright were unnecessary. Norbert, Donnie, and Howard, three elderly Musketeers, were proceeding with Norbert's usual caution in the Caswell's shiny red LTD, heading down Black Rock Road not quite to Wright's farm, when they passed a rust-red-greenish pickup heading for town at a respectable clip. "Ho ho," said Norbert.  
  
"Hot damn," said Donnie from the back seat. "There she goes!"  
  
"Like a bat outta hell!" added Howard.  
  
By the time they turned around in Wright's driveway and went after the pickup, Ruby was a mile ahead of them and gaining, but they caught up with her when a slow-moving tractor trapped her on the narrow road. Some horn- honking and arm-waving caught Ruby's attention, and she waved to them to follow her.  
  
On the outskirts of town, she pulled into the parking lot of the Tastee- Kurl Drive-In, shuttered now for the fall, and Norbert pulled in smartly behind her. He hopped out, relief at finding Ruby so easily making him feel more nimble than he was. He left his two compatriots to goggle from the windows and sauntered over to the driver's side of the pickup, and leaned casually in the window. "Morning, Ruby," he said.  
  
Ruby turned to look full at Norbert, and he could not stop himself from taking a step back. Her hair, formerly a red-brown generously peppered with gray, was now almost all grey, and a long white streak flowed down from the left temple. Norbert would later say to Catherine that he doubted human words could describe the expression in her eyes, black, haunted, a dying woman's eyes sunk in shadowy sockets. On this unseasonably warm forenoon a wool peacoat was pulled over her shoulders like a cape, as if she hadn't wanted to take the time to pull it on and button it. Her neck above the collar of her plaid blouse was striped with bruised finger marks that wrapped most of the way around to the back of her neck, and her pale cheek was deeply scratched. Her hands were clenched on the steering wheel in a white-knuckled death grip. The flesh of her face seemed to have shrunk slightly, clearly showing the skull beneath, but the elegant stamp of Scandinavian ancestry now protruded too sharply, as if some substance of life had been sucked out of her. It seemed that Ruby's flirtations with the true dark had finally caught up with her.  
  
"Ruby," Norbert said, "I've got a young lady at my house right now who's in pieces and telling a very wild story about a walk in the woods with you this morning. She's also got your big white dog with her, which sort of has my wife's cats in a tizzy, not that he'd notice. I've never seen a dog zombie before, Ruby." Ruby looked at him for a long moment, until Norbert began to suspect she was just going to put her truck in gear and drive away. Then she drew a long breath through her nose and let it out again. "I knew he'd either go with her or head for Wright's. Riley's done with me. I'm glad he's with Angela. He really cottoned to her and she'll take good care of him. I'm going to my daughter's in Glen Burnie and I won't be back till spring, and I can't take him with me." An irritated yowl issued from one of the two cat carriers carefully loaded into the club cab seat of the truck, and Norbert glanced in to see two crabby-looking cat faces looking out of each carrier. There was a large suitcase and a big airline bag on the floor of the front seat, a large leather shoulder bag and a backpack crammed full of books on the seat, three suitcases loaded in the club cab with the cat carriers, and four more tied down in the back of the pickup with a tarp lashed around them. It appeared that Ruby was indeed checking out for the long haul. She reached over and brought a large olive-drab shoulder tote up from the top of the pile on the floor. "This is Angela's. She left it on my porch. I was going to leave it at the motel, but since she's at your house it worked out well. Could you see that she gets it?"  
  
Ruby passed the tote through the window and Norbert pulled it through, ooof- ing slightly. "Christ, what's she got in there, rocks?"  
  
"Well, a young woman carries her life in her bag." Ruby looked into Norbert's eyes, and he found it hard not to step back a second time from that midnight regard. "Believe her, Norbert," Ruby said softly. "It's true, all of it. And tell her I'm sorry." She rested her hand on the gearshift, and Norbert stepped away from the truck.  
  
"When will we see you again?"  
  
"Never, or at least not permanently. I'll be back in the spring for a while to put my house up for sale and get the rest of my things. I'm done with Burkittsville, as Burkittsville has always wished I would be. What would happen to me tonight if I stayed, when it gets dark and she comes . . . I don't want to scream out my life while standing in the far corner of my own cellar. So I'm leaving. I've put a letter and a check in the mail for Harvey Bentley to come and put on the storm windows and winterize the house, and a note for Pat to come and take the chickens. I even put out the trash. I can do a hell of a lot of work in a short time . . . if I'm properly motivated." Ruby reached into her bag and handed Norbert a slip of paper. "That's my daughter's address and phone number, where I'll be. If Angela ever wants to speak to me again, tell her I'd be happy to hear from her. And so she can let me know how Riley is. I'll miss him."  
  
Norbert shook his head. "Catherine's counting on you for supper, Ruby. Can't you stay at the motel, or with us, and leave in the morning?"  
  
Ruby only shook her head. "I need to do a hundred miles before dark if I can, and it's after noon already. Town's not nearly far enough. I'd wake up at two in the morning in the middle of the woods, and she'd have me." Ruby beckoned Norbert back to the window, and she leaned out and kissed him on the cheek. Her lips were like ice. "Thank you for looking out for me. You and Cathy are about the only ones who would." Norbert looked at her wordlessly, and suddenly Ruby smiled, as brave a smile as Norbert had ever seen. "And one other thing . . . when you go to the Gas 'N Go for coffee tomorrow morning, give Evelyn my regards, would you?" And she lifted her left hand and popped up the middle finger by way of demonstration. Norbert's jaw dropped, and then he threw back his head, Angela's tote hanging from his shoulder, and bellowed laughter into the hazy October sky. Ruby put the truck in gear and pulled to the driveway, waited for a passing car, and pulled out onto the road, waving to the three of them, and was gone over the crest of the knoll.  
  
Norbert walked back to the car, still chuckling, and plopped into the driver's seat. The other two men looked at him, wide-eyed and ready for gossip. "So what's going on?" Donnie asked from the back seat.  
  
"Well, she's going to her daughter's in Glen Burnie, probably for good, and won't be back. And knowing what I know about that woman and those woods, she's doing the right thing."  
  
Howard said delicately, provoking another snort from Norbert, "And the, ah, finger?"  
  
"Oh, I'm supposed to deliver Ruby's regards to Evelyn." Donnie and Howard both cackled, and Howard said, "Are you going to?"  
  
"Dunno. I just might. But right now I need to get home and let my wife know she's not a widow."  
  
Howard raised his brows. "Oh surely."  
  
"Hmm. You haven't seen the shape that girl's in."  
  
Donnie glanced in the rearview at the fast-receding woods. "Well," he said thoughtfully, "we've all lived here all our lives. I guess we've all seen enough out here to know what's what."  
  
Norbert shook his head. "I don't think anyone will ever really know just exactly what's what out there, but if anyone ever came close, it's Ruby Lusby."  
  
*******  
  
Catherine Caswell exchanged alarmed looks with her husband and pulled a manila envelope from the hysterically sobbing Angela's nerveless fingers. She looked inside, upended the envelope and shook the contents out on her palm. The stick figure she dropped on the table as if it had been a tarantula, wiping her hand on her hip afterward, but the ruby ring she laid down more carefully. "Angela," she said firmly, "calm down. There's a note here too . . . do you want to read it or should I?"  
  
Angela shook her head, bringing herself under control with an effort. "I don't want to touch it. Will you read it?"  
  
Catherine looked the note over, frowning over the hurried handwriting, and read,  
  
"Dear Angela –  
  
I don't have a lot of time, but I wanted to thank you so much for taking Riley . . . he doesn't want to be with me any more and Wright's is too close. And I'm so sorry for all of this. If I had known this would happen I would never have written to you in the first place. This place is a wellspring of grief and fear now, and the only way to cap that wellspring is for me to leave. The daylight is barely keeping her at bay now . . . I can feel her greed and rage licking at the back of my neck right now as I'm writing, and if I'm still here tonight she'll take me and rip me to shreds. I'll have my cats with me and since Riley is safe with you, there's no reason for me to stay.  
  
Don't be frightened by the figure and the ring . . . they were aimed at me, not you, and to you I'm sure they are only artifacts. It's a beautiful ring, but it's certainly understandable if you don't want to wear it. It's just something concrete to remember all this by. You can sell it on e-Bay if you want to. And don't blame yourself for my leaving here, either. If it hadn't been you, the catalyst would have been something else, and soon . I believe now that she's been feeding from me, from my mind or life force or whatever, burning me up like wood in a fireplace, and it's making her stronger and stronger. It's time for me to go, and right now. Hopefully, that will pull the plug on her, and with her fuel gone she will sink back into whatever evil cycle she was in before.  
  
This is my daughter Jeanne's address and phone number in Glen Burnie . . . if you want, by some chance, to ever speak to me again, this is where you can find me. I'll be looking for a place of my own eventually, but right now it's not good for me to be alone, I don't think.  
  
I know we've only known each other for a couple of days, but you're a good and brave young woman who I'd be proud to think of as another daughter. Please take care, Angela, and give Riley a hug for me.  
  
Sincerely,  
  
Ruby Lusby"  
  
Angela took the note from Catherine and read it over again. Catherine expected another freshet of tears, but only a couple trickled down Angela's cheeks as she folded the note carefully and tucked it into a zipper pocket in her bag along with the ring. The stick figure she picked up and contemplated for a moment, then violently crushed and tore the figure till it was a just a handful of crumbs and strings. This she took to the trash and tossed in, then washed her hands at the sink. Catherine and Norbert watched this in silence, and Angela sat down at the table again and let her head sink into her hands, as if it ached. After a moment, Catherine began to get the beginnings of supper together, and after another moment, Angela got up to help her.  
  
****** Angela stood on the porch steps with Norbert and Catherine in the bright next-morning sunshine, bag over her shoulder and Riley wagging at her feet. "Well, I live in a townhouse apartment complex that doesn't even allow parakeets, but my folks have a big place in the country outside of Brandywine. My dad's retired from Anderson AFB. My mom volunteers at the Humane Society. Riley is a great dog and they'll be glad to take him. They've already got a herd of dogs and never turn down one more. My grandma lives in the cottage near the main house, and when she goes for her morning walk it looks like she's leading the Charge of the Light Brigade."  
  
Norman and Catherine glanced at each other. An estate outside of Brandywine, hmm? Money with a capitol M.  
  
Angela looked at the elder couple solemnly. "Thank you so much for everything," she said quietly. "You saved both of us. I feel so badly to have imposed like this."  
  
Norbert shook his head. "Nonsense. I'm just glad you came to us instead of the sheriff, because you'd probably have sat in jail for the night, and Riley would have gone to the pound and met with a mysterious accident." Norbert frowned. "He's not a very nice man when it comes to these things around here, and he hates Ruby Lusby almost worse than Evelyn at the Gas 'N Go does. He's very protective of his apple cart, you see."  
  
Angela shook her head. "I'm glad I didn't run into him." She hugged each of them in turn, and started down the steps, Riley at her heels, and then turned. "Thank you again."  
  
Catherine said, "We'd better get at least a Christmas card, young lady."  
  
Angela laughed, her first genuine laugh in a couple of days. "I'll send you a whole box." And with that she and the dog got into the her little Saab, she pulled away from the curb, and was gone down the street, beeping her horn in farewell.  
  
Norbert and Cathy waved after her, and stood on the porch with their arms around each other. "Well, Mother," Norbert said, "that's that. And let's hope Ruby was right . . . maybe this will pull the plug."  
  
Catherine said nothing for a moment. "Did you hear me talking to Pat Wright while Angela was in the shower?"  
  
"You mean about the chickens?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"How many were there?"  
  
"Twenty Rhode Island Red hens and the big rooster."  
  
"All with the heads torn off?"  
  
"All of them. Pat and her husband started to butcher them out, to at least save that much, but all of them were full of some kind of blue jelly or slime, so they just buried them. Bob was just finishing up and Pat called me. They never had much time for that sort of thing before, but I think they've become believers."  
  
"Living out there, they'd better be."  
  
"Ruby's note said she would call them tonight and check in, and they'll tell her then. It will kill her. She treated her chickens better than some people treat their kids."  
  
They went back into the house. Norbert's face was grim and Catherine could see the beginnings of a terrible mood. "I think I'll walk down to the Gas 'N Go for a cuppa," he said. "And while I'm there, I think I just might deliver Ruby's message to Evelyn if she's there."  
  
Catherine stared forbiddingly at her husband. "Don't you dare."  
  
"Oh, I won't, unless I hear one word of crowing from that nasty little biddy about Ruby leaving. And maybe Walter Bessell will get a message from me about her too."  
  
"You wouldn't talk to Evelyn's boss!"  
  
"You just watch me." And Norbert pulled on his green ball cap, the one Catherine thought of as his fighting cap, yanked it down over his eyes, and started off down the sidewalk, not strolling as he usually did, but stalking. And Catherine sighed and sat down in the rocking chair on the screened porch, and the cats came out to see what she was doing. Zip the Himalayan jumped onto the arm of the chair and peered into Catherine's face, and Lily the calico sat at Catherine's feet, looking up inquisitively.  
  
"Well," Catherine said to them. "Our friend Ruby's gone. God help her and everyone else who won't see what's right in front of their noses till it's too late."  
  
Zip yawned and Lily meowed, and after a few minutes, Catherine got up and went back into the house, the cats trailing behind her. And Norbert was just coming back up the sidewalk, looking much cheerier, when the volunteer fire department whistle blew, and it was still blowing moments later when the phone rang, Pat Wright frantic on the other end.  
****** Ruby hung up the phone in her daughter's living room in Glen Burnie, shaking from head to foot, and sat for a moment before bursting into miserable sobs.  
  
Jeanne ran in from the kitchen, spatula in hand, eyes wide with alarm, and listened in growing horror as Ruby told her.  
  
"Everything. To the ground. All my books, my music and clothes that I left, everything. Thank God I took all my photos and jewelry, and your dad's memory box. And all my lovely hens, that evil thing killed them."  
  
Jeanne's jaw dropped. "What?"  
  
"All of them. Tore their heads off."  
  
Jeanne narrowed her eyes. "That stupid girl, that so-called writer. This is all her fault."  
  
Ruby looked at her daughter, stern through her tears. "No. This is my fault. I knew what was out there. I knew something like this would happen eventually."  
  
Jeanne sat down with a thump on the sofa next to Ruby, and after a moment put her arm around her weeping mother. "At least you weren't in the house, and no animals either," she said. "Everything else is just . . . stuff. It can be replaced. That's what insurance is for. But you can't be replaced."  
  
"I know." Ruby scrubbed her face with her hands and sat up straight. She sniffed mightily, and then looked at her daughter with squared chin. "It won't be easy to start again at 56 years of age," she said, "But I did it once and I can do it again."  
  
"Well, it's not like you're lacking the means," Jeanne said practically. "And you know me and Carol will help you."  
  
Ruby squeezed her daughter's knee. "I know."  
  
"I'm so glad you're out of that house," Jeanne said. "I still find it hard to believe the things that happened there, even though I saw some of them. To be honest with you, I'm glad the house is gone. No more houses by the woods, OK, Mom? If you want to talk to ghosts, stick to Dad, OK?"  
  
Ruby laughed ruefully. "Sometimes they talk to us, honey, and there isn't a lot we can do about it."  
******** Partial letter from Angela Kramer to Norbert and Catherine Caswell, enclosed in a Christmas card in a package with a holiday parcel of homemade jams and cookies:  
  
". . . so I didn't lose the finger, but it was a long time before I could type again. The doctor said he'd never seen anything like it. The ring is locked away in my dad's safety deposit box. I talked to a woman a friend of mine knows, who knows about these things, and she recommended it be wrapped with lead ( I used some of my dad's fishing sinkers) in a white silk pouch and bound a certain way with white silk thread, so that's what I did. This woman, Sunbird (yes, that's her name) helped me do it, and told me she'd never felt such horrible "energy" (I guess you'd say that's like "vibes") from an inanimate object before, but once it was wrapped in the silk, it seemed much better . . . almost as if it was relieved, if you can believe that. Anyway, since I was having a hard time taking care of business with one hand more or less crippled, I let my lease expire and moved back with my folks in Brandywine. I do like it better, except for the woods being too close.  
I called Ruby and told her about my hand, and she was horrified, of course. She told me she wishes she had never heard of Burkittsville, except for you folks. She said too that she had a special Christmas card for you so you might have heard from her already. The plan is that she's coming in January, to visit us and see Riley.  
Speaking of old Riles, he's doing fine. There was a bit of a power struggle between him and Ginger (because she snaps), my dad's Jack Russell, but they worked it out. He's part of the pack now, but when it comes time for the daily run in the woods, he stays on the porch with me and Sally the Cocker Spaniel, who's 13 years old. I think the other dogs think he's strange for not wanting to play in the woods with my dad, but he doesn't care. He's also the only dog I've ever seen who's afraid of the dark, and he was having unmistakable bad dreams. But he's getting better. He sleeps in my room, and we have a night light. My folks think it's a little strange, but they've never questioned . . . so far.  
So that's probably all for now. Both of you have a wonderful Christmas and give my regards to Donnie and Howard, and I suspect that after Christmas I'll have a different ring to tell you about, if Mr. Dennis Holcombe, the Baltimore Marriage Flash, comes through like I suspect he's finally going to. Take care and Merry Christmas!  
  
Love, Angela"  
  
********  
  
Back-page article, Burkittsville Star-Call, dated January third of the following year:  
  
Local Teenagers Report Possible Wolf in Vicinity  
  
Three local youths report hearing howling, possibly that of a wolf, near a wooded area on New Year's Eve. The boys admit to trespassing in order to explore the remains of a burned-out house on Black Rock Road, but insist no harm was done. The howling was heard near the back of a barn on the property, and according to one of the boys, whose names are being withheld due to their minor status, "I've heard wolves howling on Animal Planet and I've heard my own dog howl when an ambulance goes by. This didn't sound like any dog or wolf . . . it sounded like somebody screaming, somebody crazy, and it was coming toward us." The sound so unnerved them that they ran for their vehicle and left at high speed.  
The local sheriff stated, "The woods are pretty thick out there – it wouldn't surprise me if we've got some coyotes or even a wolf out there. If they start causing trouble, we might have to do some coyote hunting in the spring." When questioned about the possibility of a connection to the famous Blair Witch, the sheriff responded with uncharacteristic ire when he said before abruptly hanging up, "We were fortunate to have the local troublemaker out there move away last fall, and we're not interested in hearing about any more trash of that nature. Save it for Halloween."  
*********  
  
Dennis Holcombe charged into Angela's room while her frantic screams were still ringing in the air, and knelt by where she lay sobbing on the floor, hands clamped over her ears. He looked around, bewildered, at Angela's overturned chair, the litter of notebooks and papers, the keyboard and smashed computer monitor beside the swept-clean desk, the dictaphone lying on the floor and the headphones lying at the end of their cord as far from Angela as she could fling them. He waded through the shambles, hauled her to her feet and half-carried her to the window seat. Not knowing what else to do, he began to rock her. She clung to him, shuddering helplessly, and her sobs eventually began to diminish. As he stroked her hair, not knowing what was the matter, but suspecting, he wished fervently that she had never started this goddamned ghost book, and that he had hung up on that damned old bat from Glen Burnie when she called the last time. "What is it, honey? What is it?" he asked softly.  
  
Angela's head dropped to his shoulder. "I was going to sit down and transcribe my tapes of Ruby, and the woods. I thought it would be OK . . . I mean . . . in October it'll be two years. But it wasn't the right tape . . . the tape was . . . it was a different one. . ." Panic was starting to creep back into Angela's voice and Dennis' arms tightened around her. "It's OK, honey," he said. "It's broad daylight. I'm here. It wasn't your tape?"  
  
She shook her head against his neck. "I didn't even notice. I dug it out of the tape carrier I had with me and thought I had the right one." She slid to the seat beside Dennis, and he got up and picked up the fallen dictaphone, reeling in the headphones. He popped open the little door and looked at the tape inside.  
  
"Digital Audio Tape," he read. "Should this tape even work right in this machine? And you don't have a DAT recorder anyway."  
  
"No, I don't," she said, her lip quivering. "But Michael Williams did."  
  
Dennis turned and looked at Angela sharply for a moment. "You know, Angie, I think this ghost stuff is real interesting and all, and you've shown me enough that I'm willing to believe there's something to it. But this Blair stuff is just . . . it's out of hand. When you came back from that crappy little backwater you were a changed person."  
  
Angela looked at him. "Changed enough that you want this back?" she said quietly, holding up her left hand so the oval diamond solitaire she wore glittered in the sunlight.  
  
Dennis' jaw dropped. "No! Never! That's not what I meant. But honey . . . night lights, not to mention nightmares, sleepwalking and waking up standing in the goddamned corner . . .all this goofy shit. . . I have to tell you, I don't want that Ruby character at our wedding, or those old farts from Burkittsville either."  
  
"They're going to be there."  
  
"Now damn it, honey . . ."  
  
"Listen to the tape."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Listen to the goddamned tape!" Angela shouted suddenly. "You can't imagine it! You weren't there! You don't know what I saw! The only person who knows is Ruby! She's the only one who knows I'm sane!"  
  
Dennis scowled and plopped the machine onto the desk, and reached for the "Rewind" button. Angela froze, and at that moment, a large white dog skidded into the room, went straight to Dennis, and nudged him arm hard. "Hey, Riles," Dennis said absently, reaching for the "Play" button. He lifted one headphone to his ear, and Angela, suddenly icy to the bone, said urgently, "Don't. I didn't mean it. Don't, honey. She wants to hurt us . . . oh please don't . . ."  
  
Dennis rolled his eyes at her. "Oh, bullshit. Enough of this!" And he pressed "Play" . . . and went rigid, horrorstruck, at whatever sounds of hell were blasting into his ear, and let out one helpless cry, and dropped the headphones, and turned, and moved without moving his feet, until he stood with face pressed into the corner. Angela began to shriek with helpless finality as the air was sucked from her lungs, as the dog screamed and bolted out of the room and toward the back stairs, as feet began to run up the front stairs toward Angela's room, and invisible infants began to scream, as the door exploded from its frame and a young woman's voice screamed for "MICHAEL!" , as a grinning obscene mouth lined with swarming teeth split open along the scar in the palm of Angela's healed right hand, and the slavering mouth tried to drag her hand towards her own throat . . .  
  
A blast of cold, foul air swarmed through the door, followed by swirling black tendrils reaching around the door frame. Angela held her own right hand away from her throat with her other hand, straining with all her strength, as the fangs lengthened in front of her eyes and stretched out like the flexible fangs of a pit viper . . .  
  
The black tendrils thickened and slithered further, followed by a black- haired claw hand, half an evil, insane grin, and the rest of the face peeked slowly around the door frame, followed by the other arm. The Blair Witch oozed around the door frame, sucking all the air into herself, and Angela gasped, black dots dancing in front of her field of vision.  
  
The revenant's mouth stretched till its sharp chin rested on the sunken chest, and blood flowed like tears down its face "Angeeellaaaaaaa . . . you took my Rooooobbyyyy . . . "  
  
Angela was aware of Dennis' dry sobs as he struggled to move from the corner. She had only heard him cry once, when his grandmother had passed away, and these defeated cries were not the same. She was suddenly filled with rage at this foul thing that had invaded her life.  
  
"No fear!" she shrieked at the thing. "Get out of my home, you filthy bitch! Leave us alone! Get back to your woods! Rot there! Rot in Hell!"  
  
The being moaned, the sound of wind blowing over the mouth of a dark cave full of bottomless black water. "I been there. I been there."  
  
"You made your own hell!" Angela saw with disbelief that the being had taken a step back from her. Blazing triumph filled her heart and she took a step toward the monster which now stood snarling and trembling just outside the door. Her own right hand had stopped struggling to savage her, and she glanced at it to see the fangs much smaller, the mouth turned down in a grimace of pain, or maybe grief. It started to close and heal before her eyes.  
  
"You're out of bounds," Angela said sharply. "You don't belong here. How did you come here anyway?" That she was asking a question of something that she still couldn't quite bring herself to entirely believe in didn't occur to her.  
  
The being's black eyes, still swimming with blood tears, went to the tape recorder, still muttering to itself on the floor. "Myyyyeee voiiiiccce," it hissed. Angela took three backward steps to the machine, raised her slippered foot, and brought her heel down twice on the machine as hard as she could, breaking two bones in her foot and not feeling it at all. Plastic crunched and the muttering stopped.  
  
The being suddenly seemed less solid. It was unquestionably weeping now, blood running down its face and spattering and disappearing in mid-air. "No fear . . ." It whimpered. Angela would not allow herself to feel pity. Somehow she knew that would be deadly. "Go back to your woods and never leave them again," she ordered. She raised her healed right hand and pointed out the door. "Go that way. Never come near me or mine again or we'll send you away forever. We're not afraid of you." She knew Dennis was free, and felt his arm go around her waist.  
  
"The woods . . . nooooo . . ."  
  
Dennis said coldly, making Angela jump, "What then?"  
  
"Sssstronggg laddd . . .freee meeeee . . . it's sooo coooold . . ."  
  
Dennis said nothing. Angela said, "We don't know how to do that. Perhaps you have to free yourself."  
  
The foul being stared at Angela for a long moment, and the young woman's eyes never wavered. At that moment, all unaware, she looked more like Ruby than Ruby's own daughters did. The revenant stretched black-clawed hands towards Angela, coming to within a foot of her face. Angela did not flinch or tremble. Dennis' breath started to come faster. Angela stepped in front of him, and even though the top of her head only just came to his collarbone, she seemed in that teetering moment to be a pillar he could shelter behind. "Go back to your woods and stay there. We don't hate you. But we're not afraid of you either. Go. Go now."  
  
The being faded to the top of the stairs and Angela followed without hesitation, seeing it out, the horrible uninvited guest, making it be gone, out of her life, away. It turned its lightless midnight eyes on her, black- crusted lips drawn down in a grimace of woe, and whispered, "Peaccccce be with you."  
  
Drawing on a memory from a Catholic funeral she had once attended, Angela responded, "And also with you." The Blair Witch stood on the top step for a moment, black tendrils writhing slowly, pitch-black eyes cast down, and then Angela was knocked backward to the floor by a hurricane blast of icy foul wind that moved nothing else and was gone in a second. Dazed and blinking, she got unsteadily to her feet, looked around and saw Dennis lying in a heap against the wall, the wind knocked out of him. She heard a terrible crying sound, and looked around to see Riley coming through the door on his belly, inchworming across the floor to her, ashamed unto death that he had run away and left her.  
  
She fell to her knees and gathered up the moaning dog, beginning to weep as Riley tried to lick her face. She heard Dennis crawl over towards her on the floor, and after a second one of his arms went around her and one went around the quaking dog. "It's gone," Dennis whispered. "You chased it away. How did you do that?"  
  
Angela shook her head. "It's over. No fear. No more fear." She pulled the dog closer and crushed him in her arms, and he never made a sound.  
  
********  
  
A brilliant summer Saturday, nearly a year later. Two couples stood in line, nearly to the receiving line, where the glowing bride in her glittering wedding gown stood beside her strapping groom, and him a little red-faced in his elegant tux. The first couple, elderly and a little slower, exchanged hugs and congratulations, then stood aside for the second couple.  
  
Angela Elizabeth Kramer Holcombe stared thunderstruck at the woman standing in front of her. Her jaw dropped, and she blurted, "My God, you're beautiful!"  
  
Ruby threw back her head and laughed. "Hey, kid, that's supposed to be my line today!" She took Angela in her arms and hugged her for a long moment. Angela stood her back and looked her up and down, not caring that the receiving line was piling up behind them.  
  
Ruby was at least 25 pounds slimmer than the last time Angela had seen her, the previous Christmas, and at least 40 pounds slimmer than the first time Angela had seen her in her kitchen in the farmhouse on Black Rock Road. Her hair was colored back to its original rich red brown and swept into a beautiful updo, and her floaty, formfitting blue dress made her look 15 years younger. She wore fresh, light makeup, and even her nails were manicured. There was no darkness around her now . . . she was a different woman. Light seemed everywhere in and around her.  
  
She glanced back at the man standing behind her. "Angela, Dennis, this is my friend, Martin Wallace, whom you were kind enough to include in your invitation. Martin, this is young Angela, who I've told you so much about."  
  
Martin was hovering somewhere around 60 but was tall and still slim in his navy blazer and gray slacks, with his ponytail and graying goatee. He was an academician, and looked the part. The only thing that differed from a perfectly correct image was his dark blue tie, which had little figures of Michigan J. Frog sprinkled over it. Ruby had bought it for him. He smiled from behind his little wireframed glasses and shook both their hands. "Congratulations," he said, "and we'll talk more, but this line is about to start honking. I think we should move on for now."  
  
"Yes". Ruby took Martin's arm, but paused for one more second. "Do you . . ."  
  
Angela looked into Ruby's eyes, touched a tiny white silk pouch, hidden at the waist of her gown. She squeezed the little round shape within. "Something old," she said softly.  
  
Ruby smiled, a little tremulously, and finally let the line move on. She descended the steps of the church to the sidewalk, her hand in the crook of Martin's arm, balancing lightly on blue silk heels that once would have dumped her over, and only half heard Norbert Caswell telling Martin what a damned sharp blazer that was he was wearing, but he wasn't quite sure about that tie.  
  
The four of them waited a little while for the bride to emerge from the church onto the upper portico, and a cheer went up as Angela turned her back and tossed the wildflower throwing bouquet over her shoulder. A gasp and an even bigger cheer went up, and Angela turned to see Ruby looking up at her, the bouquet clasped to her heart, and tears on her cheeks. As Martin grinned, slightly embarrassed, and Norbert and Catherine laughed, Ruby hurried back up the steps and the two women embraced again as Dennis and the wedding party looked on. "You have to go through the darkness . . ." Ruby whispered . . .  
  
"Before you can find the light," Angela whispered back. She looked into Ruby's eyes. "If not for Elly . . ."  
  
"There would have been no Martin. I know that now. In spite of herself, she brought power to you and joy, in the end, to me. And maybe that will be enough to free her."  
  
The tears finally slid down Angela's cheeks, and Ruby competently blotted them away with a silk hanky, thereby preserving Angela's expensive makeup job. "So when's the wedding?" the bride asked, sniffling a little.  
  
"Christmas. I'm wearing dark green velvet, sexy as all get out. And you're standing up with me."  
  
"I'll be there. And I know that the woman she once was would have been happy for us."  
  
Ruby kissed Angela's cheek, and went carefully back down the steps to Martin, who looked down, bemused, at this lovely woman he felt so lucky to have found. "Let's go," she said. "I feel a need for a big, sparkly glass of champagne. Maybe two glasses. For all kinds of reasons."  
  
They walked towards the parking lot, Norbert and Catherine trailing behind. "My God, Ruby is beautiful," Catherine said softly to Norbert. "She seems like a different woman. And she and Martin look wonderfully happy together."  
  
Norbert smiled. "She is, she does, and they do." He patted the camera bag hanging around his neck. "And just wait till Evelyn sees the snapshots."  
  
Catherine stopped in her tracks and stared up for a second into her husband's twinkling eyes before they moved on. And her burst of laughter followed them, trailing like multicolored streamers, across the parking lot. 


End file.
